Completely Contrived OneShot 7: Stranded
by Loafer
Summary: LASSIET. Car trouble: Lassiter & Juliet get stranded together one night. Part of the cliché series, but too long to be a ONE-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Own nothing _**psych**_-ish, claim nothing _**psych**_-ish, know nothing in general.

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: LASSIET. Another Lawson227-suggested topic, because my brain was on hiatus. Car trouble: Lassiter & Juliet get stranded together one night. (This was supposed to be another ONE-shot in my Contrived Cliché series but methinks it's too long and needs to be a two-shot. So consider yourself shot for the first time.)

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**. . .**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**. . . .**

**. . .**

They were coming out of Starbucks when Juliet asked him, mostly politely, how Marlowe was.

He said gruffly, with a side of "don't ask," that they'd ended their relationship.

Juliet took the "don't ask" seriously, told him she was sorry to hear it, and let it go.

However, instead of sleeping that night, she experienced a series of epiphanies.

_Epiphany The First_: she had been unduly uneasy about the relationship from its start  
_Epiphany The Second_: she was now unacceptably relieved Marlowe was out of the picture.  
_Epiphany The Third_: so far as she had observed, Marlowe was a perfectly nice (albeit incarcerated) woman who had made Carlton happy and hopeful.  
_Epiphany The Fourth_: the first two, in conjunction with the third, could mean only one thing, one rather significant thing she had been putting off dealing with for months, because… crap.  
_Epiphany The Fifth_: Juliet O'Hara had been jealous of Marlowe_,_ because Marlowe had Carlton.

... _and Juliet didn't._

But… Juliet had Shawn.

Juliet was (supposed to be) _happy_ with Shawn.

Alas, Juliet had _not_ been happy with Shawn for quite a while.

He still didn't have a car. And it wasn't that she minded driving her Bug everywhere they went, but rather she minded knowing his heartfelt declaration in Canada had been for nothing. Granted, he'd only said he was _thinking_ about buying a car, but it hurt a little (more than a little) to know this was just one more way he didn't have to compromise for anyone else.

He was an incorrigible liar and evader. He was so determined to undermine Carlton that his antics often threatened the legal closure of cases (legal as in "this'll stand up in court"), never seeming to realize that his games affected her as well, both as a cop and as Carlton's partner.

She could deal with Shawn never being serious at all, about anything, ever, unless someone's life was on the line… but it'd have been nice if he could try. If sometimes he could just answer a simple question in a timely manner.

He had hurt her more than she could express in the process of pushing her father back into her life. The outcome notwithstanding (not that she'd heard even one word from Frank since he left town), Shawn's disregard of her stated wishes had been painful. She knew she hadn't really explained well enough just how hurtful it had been—in the end, she backed off from her expression of anger and woundedness because Shawn had given her the puppy-dog-eyes look, and she'd let it go. She'd let it go, she'd forgiven him, she'd… compromised. That concept so foreign to him.

She had neither Henry's iron will and fortitude—and blood-relation status—nor Gus' co-dependent nature: she didn't know how either one of them lasted so long. Didn't know how she could possibly do it. Didn't know how long she was prepared to wait for her already-thirty-six-year-old boyfriend to become a bonafide adult.

But when Carlton admitted he and Marlowe had broken up, and those epiphanies washed over her late in the night, Juliet knew she'd been clinging to the thinnest of reeds, and something—everything—had to change.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

Lassiter eyed Juliet over the shelf of Twinkies. She was perusing the soda selection, and everything about her radiated annoyance.

She had been radiating said annoyance for weeks now, and so far as he could tell, it was directed solely at him. He was glared at, he was interrupted, he was abandoned mid-conversation: Juliet O'Hara was seriously torked at him.

After a few days he started asking what was wrong; after a week he started demanding. After two weeks, he gave up. They worked in testy silence, still able to benefit from the bond of their partnership—after all these years, at least _that_ much was unchanged.

But he missed her. He missed the sunny Juliet, the one who could pull him out of a funk or distract him from homicidal thoughts, who merely had to give him A Look to get his temper under control. They didn't have lunch out anymore. When they had to eat in the car, she stuck her headphones in and refused to talk to him.

It had been seven weeks now of Angry!Juliet, and he was ready for a break in the ice age. It was bad enough that Marlowe gave him the heave-ho, but to not even have the consolation of Juliet's friendship in the aftermath (especially since Juliet was the reason Marlowe dumped him: "_I can see you care for her more than you want to admit. I can't compete with that and I won't try"_) was a bitter wake-up call indeed.

_You couldn't have the one, so you went for the other; the other says you want the first one too much, and now the first one seems to want to kill you. _

This afternoon they were driving up into the forest to collect a fugitive, one Minto Gilreath, who with his partner Findley Ratcliffe had made off with a bread van full of electronics the previous week. Ratcliffe was captured a few days later with the van, but Gilreath had fled, forgetting that his background as a CPA had not properly prepared him for living on twigs and berries. He'd surrendered himself at the ranger station that morning.

They were two hours into the trip with another hour-plus to go, and so far, Ms. Cold Shoulder had said three words to him: "No," "Whatever," and "Yeah." He didn't even remember the questions. All he knew was that it'd be dark by the time they got there and they'd be coming back with Gilreath in the continuing dark.

And now, watching her have the audacity to smile at the convenience store clerk, Lassiter was starting to get righteously pissed off.

They got back into the Crown Vic and he started onto the ranger's road, driving another half hour in silence, going over again all the things he might have done to invoke her wrath. Every other time she'd been annoyed with him, if it even lasted more than ten minutes, she'd been forthcoming about why. What was different this time?

Is there any way this could be Spencer's fault? Could Spencer have spun some wild lie about him?

Spencer hadn't been around much, come to think of it. Psych had been in on a few cases but they'd been _called_ in, rather than allowed to consult after hanging around nagging for a role to play. Certainly Juliet hadn't mentioned Spencer, but then since she'd been avoiding talking to Lassiter at all, it might not be significant.

_If I wanted the silent treatment, I could have stayed married._

"If I wanted the silent treatment, I could have stayed married," he said out loud, loud enough to penetrate her earbuds.

Juliet yanked one out. "What?" Her dark blue gaze was intent and that was something: she was _looking_ at him. Maybe for the first time in weeks.

"You know, not many people like me and for the most part, I really don't care. I never even needed a partner to like me but it sure makes things easier and maybe you spoiled me all these years, I don't know. But since you obviously _don't_ like me anymore, and God knows you've stopped talking to me, I think that when we get back to the station with Gilreath, you ought to speak to Vick about getting a new partner."

"Oh, here we go again with that," she snapped. "You think the answer to every problem is to get a new partner."

"That's crap," he snapped right back. "_And_ you know it, and furthermore, you _admitting_ there's a problem you won't tell me about only proves my point."

"I don't know what your point is, and you probably don't either." She tried to shove the earbud back in but he reached over and tugged it free, out of her grasp completely. "Carlton, knock it off!"

"No, O'Hara. _You_ knock it off. You have an issue with me, tell me what the hell it is. If not, stop acting like I'm public enemy number one." He'd said as much before, but probably not with this much anger.

Juliet glared at him. "I don't have an issue with you." She pulled on the earbud cord.

Lassiter clenched the steering wheel with one hand and forcefully pulled back on the cord, ending up holding the whole thing while Juliet rubbed her right ear and muttered curses at him.

"You don't lie, O'Hara. So don't lie to me anymore."

"Carlton—"

"I mean it. If I'm not worth telling the truth to, then we are past the point of being able to work together anymore." He felt recklessly angry, and at the same time oddly relieved because she was actually talking to him—yelling, even—and to have her acknowledge his existence beyond casework was a novelty.

And then he hit a tree.

**. . . .**

**. . .**

It wasn't actually a tree, Juliet reflected later, and he didn't actually hit it. It was a large tree limb in the middle of the road, and Carlton swerved at the last second, which put them off the road and nose-first into a watery ditch, with the back end of the Crown Vic suspended well off the ground.

"O'Hara! Are you all right?" He turned to her, despite being locked in place by the seatbelt, and both of them beat back the rapidly deflating airbags.

"Yeah, but I can't… I can't get this seatbelt to release." She struggled with it, trying to brace her feet on the floorboard; the angle of the car was giving gravity more power than she liked right now.

Carlton leaned over to help while she pushed at the door, which wouldn't budge, and then suddenly he stopped and stared at her, much too close, his blue eyes bright and fierce. "Tell me what's wrong."

"_What_? Carlton, this is not the time! Just help me get out of here before we drown!"

"It's a ditch," he pointed out with irritation, "not the Mariana Trench. You want out, you tell me what the hell I did to piss you off."

Juliet glared at him, torn between smacking him and … and that other thing she'd been resisting for so long. "Carlton. We are _not_ having this conversation _now_."

He sat back, his frown carving deep lines in his forehead. "Fine." He fished a pocket knife out of his jacket, reached past her to savagely slash at the seatbelt with enough force to slice a path in the door frame padding as well, and then yanked the rest loose with brute strength.

The whole thing took under ten seconds and she was stunned by the ferocity of it.

He scrambled out of the car and his long arm shot out for her to grab his hand, and when she had climbed over the console into his seat, he said coldly, "That's it. When we get back, we're talking to Vick."

One last hard pull and she was out of the car, protesting—not even sure what she was saying—following him up the slippery embankment.

"Carlton! Carlton, stop! I don't _want_ a new partner!"

On the dirt road, he turned to face her, jaw set. "Well, you sure as hell don't seem to want the one you have." He strode away to check out the size of the tree problem, and Juliet stood catching her breath, hands to her hot face, trying to figure out how this had gotten so out of control so fast.

_Calm down_, she warned herself. _Calm down. Focus_.

She got out her cell phone—no signal. She knew better than to ask him; even if he hadn't already checked his own phone, they had the same carrier so they were both S.O.L.

The car's back end was off the ground by several feet, and there was no chance they could pull it free even if they had the equipment they needed… _like, you know, another vehicle and a strong chain._

The tree limb was more like half a tree. Carlton was across the dirt road looking at the split trunk of its source.

"Lightning?" she called out. There had been bad storms overnight. This was the ranger's road but surely someone would have traveled it before they came through.

"Yeah." He was curt. She couldn't blame him.

It would be full-on dark in another hour, and cold.

Carlton made his way to the other side. She could just see the top of his head, and allowed herself a few moments to try to compose herself further.

Damn him.

She wanted to go around and confront him and tell him how things were, but if she did that, she would probably fling herself into his arms and completely lose her well-stoked fire of aggravation and that wouldn't do.

Finally he came back into view, shoving a hand into his hair, looking irritated and remote.

"Even if we get _this_ moved, we can't get _ourselves_ moved." He glanced at the Vic, and then looked up at the gray sky.

"Someone has to come along, right?"

Carlton shrugged. "Eventually."

Juliet hugged her arms to her chest tightly. She knew there were water and granola bars at the very least in the trunk, along with a blanket or two, so they would neither starve nor die of thirst before someone turned up.

But _Carlton_ might freeze her to death, which admittedly she might deserve.

Suddenly he was heading down the embankment again toward the open driver side door of the car. He was trying hard not to slip in the damp leaves, clutching at the car for support.

"What are you doing?" she called out anxiously.

"Turning on the hazard lights."

To alert any other drivers who might come along. Preferably rangers. With chains. And radios.

The Crown Vic should have had a radio, of course, but when Ackerman in the police garage found out they were only going to spend the day driving up to collect a fugitive, he'd pulled it out for service, swearing it would be ready by the time they returned. And they weren't going to need it, right? Because they had cell phones, right? And the trip was short, right?

Right.

The flashers lit up the gray of the fading day, and Carlton took the time to collect the keys before he slammed the door shut and made his way back up the embankment.

"We're staying put," he said flatly. "If you argue about it for any reason having to do with how much you hate me, I don't want to hear it. We're too far from the ranger station to walk, and we have the supplies we need to make it until morning."

Juliet was stung. "I _don't_ hate you, Carlton. I couldn't. Ever. I'm just… just give me some time to…"

"Take all the time you need," he interrupted brusquely. "You can tell your new partner all about it. Tonight, you can go back to giving me the silent treatment."

"Stop it!" she yelled. "I am not asking for a new partner!"

Carlton turned away, hoisting himself up onto the trunk. The angle of the car turned the trunk and rear window into a lounge chair of sorts, and he crossed his long legs, hands behind his head, as if he were completely relaxed.

She knew better, though. She _knew_ him. She knew him better than anyone else. She knew his moods and his annoyances and every shade of blue of his remarkable eyes. She knew he was hurt and confused and angry by her treatment of him, and she knew he didn't deserve any of it.

Getting her foot up on the bumper, she held out her hand for him to help her—never questioning whether he would—and he reached out immediately to pull her up beside him, even moving over a little to make more room for her.

Juliet shivered, and he eyed her suspiciously. "You need the blanket from the trunk?"

"Not yet."

_I could get all the warmth I need from _you_ if only…_

"Carlton," she ventured. "I'm sorry."

He said nothing. She stole a glance at his profile, and it was stony.

"I _have_ been… unfriendly lately."

He cleared his throat.

"I've been working through a problem," she continued cautiously.

"With me," he supplied. "Yes, I know that much, O'Hara; I _have_ been paying attention."

"No… not you… it's…" She stopped. She had no idea what to say. Whether to say it.

"Not me?" Carlton repeated in disbelief. "Who _else_ have you been a total bitch to the last two months?"

She deserved that. But… "Carlton—"

"No, really, O'Hara. It's like you repressed bitchiness for seven years and then released it all at once on _me_, and I'm not saying I didn't do anything to bring it on because I'm a man and that's what we do—piss women off without even trying—but crap on a cracker, I _know_ I deserve an explanation."

She studied him warily. He was angry but the hurt underlay it all and this was all her fault.

"I deserve to know what I did to make you hate me," he said more quietly, not looking at her.

Her heart ached. "I don't hate you. I don't. God, Carlton, I _love_ you."

_Oh, crap! DAMN!_ She'd said it!

But when she looked at him in panic, he was shaking his head. As if he were… _annoyed_?

This in turn annoyed _her_. He was never supposed to react _that_ way. "Why the hell are you shaking your head?"

"Sweet Lady Justice," he muttered. "Like I'm one of your brothers—'don't be offended if I slice you to ribbons; I still loooove you, bro!'" he said mockingly, and practically jumped off the trunk again—like he couldn't get far enough away from her.

"What?" she screeched, scrambling again to keep up with him. On her knees at the edge of the trunk, she managed to snag his sleeve and force him back around; gravity on the slanting embankment brought him the rest of the way back to the edge of the car.

Juliet whispered, "Not like that, you idiot," and kissed him. Her hands on his lean face, her mouth on his. She tasted the curve of his lips and the warmth of his mouth and heard his quickening breathing and felt, oh how she felt, the response—and then he jerked back.

His brilliant blue eyes were huge and startled. "What are you _doing_?"

"Explaining," she said, and pulled him in for another kiss.

**. . . .**

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

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**. . .**

Lassiter felt as if he were drowning... drowning in a crazy mix of want and confusion and desire and mystification and underneath it a tendril of irritation which amped up the confusion, so that even though Juliet kissing him was on the one hand utterly magnificent, it was also something he had to stop because it made sense like Denzel Washington in a tutu made sense.

He broke free and made it up the embankment to the road surface, staring at her—her dark blue eyes, her just-kissed lips, her flushed face.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

_Walk it off_, said a cold little voice in his head. _Whatever this is, it's not real._

"I'm heading down this road for fifteen minutes," he said with what was left of his resolve. "To see if I can find a cell phone signal. Fifteen minutes, and then I'll turn around. Stay here." He didn't wait, didn't slow down to hear her objections; he walked as fast as he could straight down the middle of the dirt road.

_Son of a bitch. Son of an ever-lovin' bitch. _

Juliet kissed him.

She frickin' said she _loved_ him, and then she _kissed_ him.

_Sweet Lady Madness._

But she also said.

She also.

Said.

It was a _problem_ she was trying to _work through_.

_He_ was a problem.

Loving him was a _problem_.

A problem which made her so angry—maybe even disgusted—that she'd slammed the door in his face repeatedly for seven stinking weeks.

It was… _he_ was… something _she didn't want_.

He stopped, breathing harder than he should have, but it wasn't the exertion of the walk. It was the roaring in his ears and the thudding of his heart.

_Check the phone, doofus._

He did; no signal. Damn forest. Damn Ackerman, taking the radio.

Yes, getting involved with a partner was a complicated business: he knew it far better than she did, but she'd obviously learned from _his_ mistake.

And he had no idea what was going on with her and Spencer—maybe that was why she was so angry. Maybe her inexplicable attraction to Lassiter was pissing her off partly because it was inexplicable, for one thing, and verboten for another. For _two_ anothers: the boyfriend plus the partnership.

Stopping again, heart steadier as he calmed down very, very gradually, he looked at his watch. He'd been out for nine minutes and knew he'd walked pretty far down the dirt road. Adrenalin made for jet speed, and he had the long legs to go with it.

The forest was damp and chilly this January afternoon, but it would be cold before very long and dark even sooner.

He'd have to go back and face Juliet but he'd be damned if he was going to... _to what_?

To anything. He'd make the new partner request himself—hell, he didn't have to request; he was the Head Damn Detective and he could arrange the partnerships as he liked—and if Vick overrode him he'd just tell her how it was. That would do it. She'd have Juliet with another partner in less time than it took to draw a weapon on a perp.

Lassiter turned around, but took the return trek more slowly. He needed to get his poker face back on, and on tight.

When he got back up to the Vic and the ruined tree and his very tense partner, she was standing in the road with her arms wrapped around herself so tightly she might well lose consciousness if she weren't careful, and he considered telling her to relax.

On the other hand, if she passed out, he wouldn't have to avoid her searching gaze for a while.

Better to remain silent.

He said, "No signal," and passed her, sliding down the embankment again to open the car door. He reached in only far enough to start honking the horn in an SOS pattern, and when he dared to glance up at Juliet, she looked mutinous and worried and hellaciously kissable all at the same time, and damn her for opening up Pandora's Box.

After nearly ten minutes of noise, she nearly screamed, "Stop already!"

Lassiter completed the last of the SOS he was sending, and closed the door again, working his way back up the slippery slope. Juliet held out a hand as if to help him but he couldn't touch her. Not now.

He popped the trunk and inspected the contents. "Take this," he said, and handed out a sealed packet of granola bars and two water bottles, taking up the lone blanket and one of the flashlights before he slammed the lid shut.

The blinking red hazard lights were going to be very annoying once full dark set in, he mused.

_Mused_. As if he could forget he was there with Juliet.

Who had kissed him.

Twice.

Masterfully.

Damn her.

"Carlton," she said evenly, "I need you to talk to me."

"That's rich," he muttered.

"What?"

"I've asked you to talk to me for the last two months and got bupkis and you think all you have to do is ask me _once_?"

Juliet brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, looking anxious. "I haven't been rational. I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure you're sorry about a lot of things." _Particularly about the last two minutes before I went down the road._

He hoisted himself up on the trunk as he had earlier, taking the blanket and flashlight with him.

"Carlton, give me a chance to explain."

"No, O'Hara. I don't have to do that. Not yet. Do you want a hand up here or are you sleeping on the dirt?"

Now she sounded exasperated. "It's only five o'clock, you know—I'm not exactly ready to turn in."

"Suit yourself." He shook out the blanket, ignoring the voice which pointed out he'd have to share it with her later. Not to worry; it was big enough. He'd never have to touch her, and by God he'd try not to.

"But if I come up there with you will you let me explain?"

"Nope."

"Carlton, this is crazy. We have to talk about this!"

"O'Hara," he snapped, "I have given you seven weeks to tell me what was wrong while you were working out your obvious _revulsion_ to the _problem_ you had to _work through_ which was apparently some temporary and aberrant attraction to me instead of your boyfriend. The window of opportunity is closed now; you get it? Take it up with a therapist. Or better yet, get your _psychic_ to interpret it for you."

Even in the falling light he could see the bright spots of color in her cheeks, and it was dawning on him that she was armed when she threw a water bottle at him. It hit him in the chest—which hurt rather a lot—but somehow he caught it before it fell into the ditch.

"I don't have a psychic," she said icily, and then pitched the other bottle at him too.

Lassiter couldn't catch that one; it bounced off his arm and rolled away into the murky ditch water with a splash. "Well don't stop now, O'Hara," he shot back. "Why don't you waste the granola too?"

Her hand rose as if to do just that, but then she backed away, into the middle of the road, standing there in her ridiculous heels, granola packet in one clenched fist.

She really _was_ beautiful when she was angry, cliché notwithstanding, and he was so very sorry she had kissed him because now he knew, and knowing how it was to kiss her was going to make it ten times harder to give her up.

But then again, knowing he was only _a problem she was trying to work through_ might help with that.

Then the penny dropped. Senses prickling.

"What do you mean you don't have a psychic? Apart from Spencer being a complete fraud?"

Juliet dropped the granola and sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged and looking for all the world like a lost little girl. "I broke it off with him."

Lassiter stared. And stared. And pondered. "Was it seven weeks ago?"

She shrugged. "Give or take."

"And you've been pissed at _me_ ever since?"

"Yes. No. No!" Juliet protested. "Okay, yes. But…" She sighed.

"You know what? Never mind. I don't want to know." He spread the blanket out over his legs; the temperature was dropping fast and it was already hard to see Juliet, except for when the flashers illuminated her.

"Carlton," she said, so very wearily. "Please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I've been a bitch. It really wasn't you. You didn't do anything and you absolutely did not deserve to be treated that way."

"Now _there_ we agree."

She hugged herself tight again, shivering.

_Crap. _

"O'Hara, get up here."

After a moment, she got to her feet and came to the Vic; he reached out to grab her hand and helped her up beside him, and without thinking about it overmuch, spread the blanket over both of them once she'd gotten situated at his side.

Damn her for smelling good, too.

"Look," he started, because although he _really_ didn't want her to spell out how much she didn't want to be attracted (temporarily) to him, he knew she was right: they had to talk about this. "I don't understand much about the female brain but I know about breakups. They screw with reality and make you look at everything—everybody—differently."

"Sometimes seeing everything differently is what leads to breakups," she countered. "And sometimes it's about admitting that you've _always_ seen it and you were just an idiot."

"Well, I know about being an idiot too."

"Carlton," she admonished. "You're only human like the rest of us."

He shrugged. "So you say."

She caught his hand, warming it in the chill of dusk. "I do say."

Squeezing her hand back briefly, he would have let her go, but she held on.

"I broke up with Shawn because it was past time. There's a lot of good in him; you know there is. I care about him and I always will. But whether I gave it another year or another decade, our relationship was never going to survive, and you already have your own list of reasons why I'm right."

"Trust me," he said dryly, "I would never try to talk you into staying with Spencer."

Juliet squeezed his hand again, and he heard the smile in her voice. "I know. Anyway, even though the breakup was inevitable, the truth is the timing _was_ because of you."

"But how in the hell is that possible?" He turned to see her face, lit intermittently by the reflection of the blinking taillights. "What did I do?"

Juliet lowered her gaze to his hand, which she had somehow pulled into her lap over the blanket. "You broke up with Marlowe," she said softly.

Lassiter was at a loss now, really. Truly. "He's around here somewhere, isn't he?"

"Who?"

"Denzel in a tutu."

Juliet smiled, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Insanity."

"Apparently. Listen... here's the thing. From the first time I saw you with Marlowe, I had a problem with her."

Stiffly, he interrupted, "She is a very nice woman and—"

"I know. I know she is. That was the problem. You were standing there with her, and you barely knew her, but you were already connected to her. There I was with the idiot bloodfeast brothers, and you two looked so... right together."

It had felt right, but he'd been foolish. Naïve. Desperate, even, for a chance to break Juliet's hold on his heart.

"Then the next time." She hesitated. "When we... interrupted you."

Lassiter flushed. He remembered it all too well.

"You were making love to her," she whispered.

"I was trying," he agreed grimly. "But no such luck."

"You were trying," she amended, "and to this day I will never forget how you looked at the door."

"Stupid military garters." He remembered _that_ all too well, too.

"No. You... in passion. Shirt open, hair messed up... my God, it was..." She stopped, and he couldn't help but stare at her again, at how she touched her cheek with her free hand and seemed to be fanning herself despite the chill. "Anyway," she rallied. "It got to me. A lot. Seeing you with her after, and at her house... you just looked so loyal and so determined and so very... not mine."

He was back on At-A-Loss Central.

"I told myself I was only jealous because I was greedy. I had a boyfriend but I wanted my partner to stay available, to stay my best friend, to stay... unattached, because I didn't want to share you."

I_ had to share _you_. And I got precious little—Spencer held your attention far too well._

Juliet looked at him steadily. "Then you bought a condo... for _her_. So I thought it was time for me to get more serious with Shawn, and I started leading him into moving in with me despite all our problems, despite how I _knew_ there was no way it could ever last. Ironically, Henry getting shot put a stop to that, and Shawn went on being Shawn after Henry recovered."

Her hand was so warm in his, and she covered it with her other hand as well, completing the feeling of rightness.

"When you told me you broke up with her, I was..." She seemed embarrassed. "I was so incredibly relieved, Carlton. I'm honestly appalled at how relieved I was."

"O'Hara." He paused. "You were just looking for an excuse. Or a distraction. I get it."

"No, you _don't_ get it. I mean, yes, I probably was looking for an excuse to end things with Shawn but that had nothing to do with you. With... how I felt about you."

"You got confused," he repeated, and then he got it. "After the breakup when you realized you didn't have feelings for me—"

"Please don't. Please don't... assume."

"O'Hara, you can't—come on. I know you about as well as you know me. You don't..." He couldn't say it at first. "You don't love me. You care about me because you're my partner and my friend but you're not... you don't..." He felt sick. What he _knew_ to be true, once spoken out loud, was inordinately depressing. More so in the dark and cold, lit by the flashes of red against the tree limbs and dirt road and shadowy recesses of the forest.

Juliet sighed. "Carlton, you could not be more wrong. The reason I have struggled with this—the reason I've taken out my frustrations on you—is that I _do_ love you. I admit I don't want to, because we're partners and you're skittish and it's only going to freak you out and make you crazy and besides, you just broke up with Marlowe and I'd never hold up as a rebound after her. She seemed so right for you." She paused. "Other than trying to drain your blood and breaking into a blood bank, that is. You seemed... happy."

Lassiter had been to Astounded and back so many times in the past half hour that he'd lost track. "O'Hara. You really think you..."

"Love you?" She smiled. "I know I do. And now I just want you to get over Marlowe so you can take a look at me."

_Holy crap. _

Slowly, he started again. "No. You really think you don't outclass any other woman I've ever known?"

Juliet drew in a sharp breath. "I... I don't know about that."

"Marlowe wanted me to get over _you_ so I could take a look at _her_."

Her hands tightened around his. "Oh."

"She ended it because she was tired of how I talked about you."

"Oh," she said again, and kissed him, finding his mouth unerringly in the dark, all heat and need.

Lassiter was more than ready this time, returning the kiss with immediate hunger, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue and breathless at how breathless _she_ was. Juliet curled against him under the blanket, arms around his neck and back now as he held her, and really there was nothing else around them at all. Not the night, not the blinking red light, not the shadows or the cold or the damp.

"Better," she breathed, stroking his face. "So much better."

"Damn straight." He had to kiss her again, just in case he was dreaming all of this.

When her hand slipped inside his shirt, her fingertips brushing his chest, he couldn't help but deepen the kiss, and for a while the two them were locked in a delicious competition—who could kiss the other into submission first.

But Lassiter was already lost to her, and happy about his downfall.

"So does this mean we're each other's rebound?" she asked, teasing.

"No. Marlowe was my rebound from you."

Juliet's smile was tremulous. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch. And I'm sorry about so many other things."

"You don't have to be sorry about anything, O'Hara." He was nuzzling her throat, tasting her cool skin, skin rapidly warming under his breath.

"I hit you with a water bottle."

"Okay, yeah, that hurt a little." He nibbled her earlobe, making her gasp.

"Carlton?"

"Yes?" He paused, meeting her gaze, suddenly afraid there was a big "but" to all this.

"Just so I'm clear... your feelings for me are...?"

Beyond relieved, he grinned. "Of _course_ I love you. What the hell kind of lame-ass detective couldn't figure _that_ out?"

Juliet laughed and slung her leg over his, adjusting the blanket on their makeshift divan. "I've been off my game."

He barely heard her; the feeling of her curvy warmth pressed to him was making him blind to any other sensations. Truly, Denzel Washington _could_ have walked by in a tutu and Lassiter wouldn't have noticed.

The kissing... and touching... went on for quite some time. He learned a lot about how Juliet reacted to him, and learned also that how he reacted to her was nearly enough to make him want to risk getting caught having sex on the trunk of the ditched Crown Vic.

She whispered that she loved him and had for a long time. He whispered the same true words back to her, and forgave her for every minute of hell she'd given him the past two months. She promised to make it up to him over time.

"I think we have to make love now," she added in a heated whisper against his throat, making him shiver more powerfully than any cold January night could manage.

"I think we already are," he said, settling his mouth down over hers again.

Lassiter was glad later for that moment's strength, because shortly thereafter a ranger's Jeep rumbled down the road from the north, headlights slicing through the dark and the fallen tree's branches, a crazy patchwork of light illuminating the world on their side of the tree.

They both yelled out their presence, scrambling down off the car and back up to the road, but Juliet kept her hand in his, and Lassiter realized something rather profound: he'd already been rescued.

And having been rescued by Juliet meant only one thing: he was hers forever.

She whispered, "I love you, Carlton," her eyes shining in the light.

He said it back... and thanked her, delighted now to have been the problem she'd worked through.

**. . . .**

**. . .**


End file.
